THE CITY A FORTRESS
fathoming depths from the panoramic place
the merlons somersault
please hold onto the rail
layers of river sand
fixate the bandwidth
shades of black
accentuate the growth rings
adjust the city roof to Dome tower height
and the ancient dictates
the sudden new
that lets itself be read as green space
just so! a weathered piece of city wall
(remnant of the citadel)
gave our first tingles grip
the firm base I had a helipad
every tower crane a winner
my city a turf
a lively city chronicle
one of those real page turners
with a plot
a river course
a beginning
fossilised mire, fossilised silt
the Old Rhine, the Nether Rhine, the Crooked Rhine
suddenly swinging with your smell
addicted to pill books
outrageously thick (slick)
outrageously bulky
the folio in india-print
of which each page rustles
the leaf gold and taffeta
from which the city arises, foliage crackles
the city that, purely for form’s sake
for now, coquettishly rejects all this strangeness
it is travelling towards
hear
hear
how the stream streams
how the stream
pulls at you here
how the book runs, soon as you slip away
runs like a train
reads like the clappers
you have to turn over
a river it is
that, seeing as it’s a radiant Spring
surely didn’t burst its banks only in winter
seeing as the ford
seeing as the towpath
my city an assault course
in scouting days
dim lights lit our way
be our hot-spots
every hide-out a pup tent
a bus shelter for train spotters
the release of the traces
the update of the dance-cards
the lousiest back way
‘Just don’t ask…!’
the chilliest draughty nook
a high mass to bird watchers
every dull doorway henceforth shelters
(from now on)
fire-resistant, vandal-proof
the climbing wall of choice
that you want your heels
that you want your studs
that you want your studs to strike at
blindly
no different
not much different to…
blind plantigrades with stirrups are we
secured to the timeline
we keep falling
(just love to fall)
we fall hard and mercilessly
back on our accent
by way of a rivet
you teach me celtic
– a foothold of old –
by way of iron rations
you cultivate my spanish
by way of a wall clamp
I modulate my mother tongue
hoping for good manners
you help me value depth and help me find
a firm base
this panoramic place
o make me equally adept familiar
with this poem of a city view
raise me up above the surface level
in the dark I feel
in the dark I feel
your vista
surprise me with a heliview
so wide
so chic
that we (almost simultaneously): streetwise straightaway
so
very physically nature-lyrically
now that I focus
now that you see straight through me
forward and without a fuss
let go of all your acrophobia on my parapet
not without a struggle
the fossilised river silt articulates us
the most exciting footnote
to every building regulation left to write
puts my landscape in relief
fathoming depths from the panoramic place
dredging out my city
student-like we mop up
blousing blouses
billowing sails
the city a refuge island
plus a drawbridge
so as you’ll stay
so as we’ll stay
only just now only now:
taking root in what, by approximation only
was the highest alluvial ridge
MASTERPLAN: MY CITY
the building capacities are fixed
the refuse collectors are on strike
on strike
just long enough to spontaneously treat us, through the lingering air, to a
Utrecht past in which we then
let loose a piggie or two on the rubbish tip
with the aid of image collages and this electronic drawing board we
planners get to work
cheerful planners, no less –
the building capacities are fixed
a Utrecht city view
you have to be able to get there
you have to want to be there
cannon thunder
smothered in the rampart
blazon blast
is how you blew the earth clear
how you blow the earth clear
that seems to cover my costs
dismissing a priest can
with some demolition bricks
re-pair the damaged calling card
of the old city rampart
o my city whole
given such a large-scale patch-up
with water in the avenue
with taxi’s to and fro
we rout about
(Big Mac!)
got a STASH of cash
at all angles
from all quarters
the sponsors are flown in:
(ample KISS AND RIDE lane)
‘It’s music to my ears!’
my city a dock
Sonnenborgh, Manenburg, Sterrenburg
just a breeze and you’re away
my city a fortress
(‘Music!’…)
my city docked
how do you read the palm
when the heart fails
how do you read the city
in which I gave in
our boldest plan to mount the Dome
and mounted
and mounted
The Dome
The Dome
which I sung of –
sing of!
how
blind
how unthinking
you read my palm
in the eye of that whirlwind
how do I anchor
– the building capacities are fixed –
how do I anchor, dearest, in this
EDDY OF IMPRESSIONS
your monument
on the top-most floor of the Neude flats
I delve into The Master Plan
darknight I work office hours
a high-risk transport
together we pour over
THE ACCENTUATED GOVERNMENT POLICY CONCERNING NEW KEY PROJECTS ALWAYS OCCURRING IN THE RAIL TRACK AREA
the track
– our track –
The Dome
The Dome
that I sang of…
the gong darknight
office hours
the surface level turns
this
piggie let loose on the tip
□ squiggle here
□ tick there
‘O, definitely…!’
(THE PLANS ALSO HAVE CONSEQUENCES BEYOND THE PLANNING AREA…)
this master plan
is on track
the surface level twirls
we
are on track and twirl
we
twirl and twirl –
file THE HIGH-RISK TRANSPORT (just in time) under the heading
VREDENBURG CULTURE SQUARE
a golden opportunity, my pet
sustainable and future-proof
encrypted love
o, you bet
(listen to that…) The Dome, THE BELLS!:
I’m placing you in the plinth
The Big Issue
ART AT THE BUILDING SITE
when the VREDENBURG MUSIC CENTRE closed
the Utrecht ‘POETRY NIGHT’ was also out on the street
GIMME SHELTER
(…A BOX FOR THE HOMELESS)
the data puddles
in and around the station area stir up
goose flesh we called it
Poetry Night
how much love do you shoot up a junkie
on the spot of the yawning void
they give us the prospect of a palace
eye to eye with the hole
the question’s left standing
how many cold turkey’s can I take
now the intimacy
of all that was inhabitable
self-contained
facing inwards
has to make way for the Incredible
my city lies open
that
national radiance – with the
persuasiveness of a wrecking ball
brought into play for the miracle
the dozer bullies
more coppers in the street
the long-term plan
the façade lift
the concrete pimple one of those
botox boosts
a hole
a pig’s heart
all transparent with the vibrant appearance
of desk jobs in the rejuvenated plinth the
range of halls under one roof (soon)
soon soon we’ll drink to that
heave
o not for nothing
did we heave
such a refreshing think-tank smart architects in suits
after the dismantling they would promptly
redub the old room
and leave it undisturbed
the old hall into which
Night after Night again
(…right along your neck up to the rafters)
our poetry had crawled:
redub don’t wreck!
leave it undisturbed
unperturbed
the care workers
the parade of planners
bickering
often lots and happily
time-wasting
who’s manning the beds
the specialists
who
within the whole rigmarole will
‘deliver the old hall as new’ (soon soon):
that’s the jargon, darling
just don’t be scared
we’ll invest in the future henceforth
the way people (many a man) invested in
the future once upon a time
you won’t die
you won’t –
im
moveably they already call it investing in identity, pet
we won’t die
just look how brightly the future beckons
rises in all clarity, whatever your aim may be
a new MUSIC PALACE
our
kingdom
with the intimacy of a home cinema
was always easily translatable anyway
fills, flowed and
flows
together acoustically with what
may be called the SYMPHONIC BIOTOPE from now on
all along OPTION STREET
poetry is dope
call yourself a poet
then walk up front
call yourself a poet
then dig the romantics
of the many imposed years as a vagabond
politely I decline
politely I decline the bunker the vault the depot
the bulletproof vest in which people like to
give poetry a temporary house of rest
never abandoned
our child of the night
is alive – is emperor now
parties like an animal here
now and here
warm and dear
every nook
every tear
never abandoned
our child of the night
permanently resides
here and now
now and here
warm and dear
every nook
every tear
every split
deep-pile carpet
from mirror to dance hall from now on
let us sway (with or without white smoke)
and crack the parquet of our very own chiming cathedral
then we clink and drink
no weak excuse ‘You’re far too costly!’
at the most a poem makes it look posh
letting the night bleed to death in a box
very light…
darknight…
‘gimme shelter’
it bled to death
analogous to that Utrecht Night
(disaster of The Red Box*)
pant, romantic, for a while if you like in the portico
‘Seeya…!’ we’ve gone from your death’s door
the night this night transcends
(sharp and soft and such a golden shot)
all the nights darling
this night
pairs off everything to everything all the while
not for nothing did they choose this place to entertain us
(as in those days) with THE TREATY OF UTRECHT:
genial and generous sure
BIG CITY STYLE
(*The temporary venue in Leidsche Rijn while Vredenburg Music Centre is being rebuilt in Utrecht)
Translated by Willem Groenewegen
Willem Groenewegen (1971) had a bilingual upbringing in Surrey (UK). He studied English Literature in Groningen (NL) and Manchester (UK). He began translating Dutch literature professionally in 2000 and has translated three selections of poetry of Arjen Duinker, Nick J. Swarth and Rutger Kopland. The latter, entitled What Water Left Behind, got him shortlisted for The Popescu Prize for European Poetry in Translation (The Poetry Society) in 2007. He also translates short prose and art-related texts. (www.willem-groenewegen.nl)
Read by Emma Brown
